


When I Kissed the Teacher

by spikesgirl58



Series: ABBA/Foothills [74]
Category: Man from Uncle - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-26
Updated: 2013-07-26
Packaged: 2017-12-21 09:56:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/898927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spikesgirl58/pseuds/spikesgirl58
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Napoleon and Illya make it official and legally tie the knot., as do Matt and Rocky, but Illya can't understand what the big deal is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When I Kissed the Teacher

**Author's Note:**

  * For [The Wretching](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=The+Wretching).



It had been a long time since he’d HAD to wake up for anything.  Retirement had not come easily for Illya Kuryakin.  He was grateful that he’d been given the chance to retire at all.  Not many Section Two agents lived long enough to retire at all.  Granted, he hadn’t exactly worked out his contract, leaving just a month short of his thirty-ninth birthday, but still he considered it a miracle he’d survived THURSH.

Without UNCLE and with a single-minded, dogged determination, the same kind that had sent a Soviet agent straight up the Enforcement ladder, he became a master chef.  He was not just a master chef, but co-owner of a very successful restaurant.  It had taken hard work, a lot of sweat and luck, but he’d built up a thriving business.

Abruptly, one night Napoleon had come back into his life and everything else was secondary.  They’d survived Napoleon’s kidnapping and near death.  They survived Illya’s meltdown and grievous injury to his hand.  They’d survived so much, seemingly kicking, biting and fighting every bit as much now as when they’d both been UNCLE agents.

Then, one day, Napoleon proclaimed that they were retired and Illya was supposed to stop doing everything he’d been doing for the past forty years.  He was supposed to find meaning and purpose in life now.  For Illya, a man of few hobbies and someone who had worked very hard since childhood, retirement had been hard.

However, one of the things he did enjoy about it was the ability to finally and without guilt or consequence, sleep in.  For the first few months, he’d slept a lot, simply because he could.  Well- meaning friends urged him to seek medical attention for his depression, but Napoleon knew better.  Hell, Napoleon knew Illya better than he knew himself.  He’d thanked everyone, promising to look into things and let Illya sleep.

Then one morning, Illya had had enough sleeping and started exploring new fields.  He taught a class at the local community college, carefully scheduled to run at the same time as the one Napoleon taught in acting.  He helped out when Matt needed a hand, he volunteered at the local food bank and lent his support to a dozen community projects.  In short, he was even busier now than when he was running the restaurant full time.

He enjoyed his new life and enjoyed the ability to sleep in even more.  Before sleep was a necessity, something he resented.  Now he luxuriated in it.

Except this morning…

“Illya.”

“Go away.”  Or it would have sounded like go away if he hadn’t said it into his pillow.

“You have to get up now.”  This time the voice was accompanied by a poke to his ribs.

“Napoleon, I don’t want to.”

“But you have to. Now!”  The bed clothes were ripped away and Illya shivered in the coolness of the room. 

Illya rolled over and glared at his partner.  “Correct me if I am wrong, but I thought being retired meant you didn’t have to do anything.”

“Normally it does, but not today.”  Illya teased Napoleon, calling him his silver fox.  The man’s hair was nearly white now while Illya sported only a few silver threads among his forever unruly mop of blond hair.  “Rocky and Matt will be here any minute.  Now get up and get ready.”

“All right, but let the record show that I’m doing this under protest.”   Illya swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat there, waiting for the rest of him to wake up.  He could remember a time when he’d leap up and be out the door in a matter of minutes, even after a week-long affair or extended flight.  Now it practically took an act of sheer will to get going.  A lifetime of abuse took its toll with gleeful abundance.

He was halfway through shaving when he paused.  “What are Matt and Rocky coming over for?”  His memory wasn’t exactly as sharp as it had been, but he wasn’t that forgetful.

“Something came up and we agreed that we needed to strike while the iron was hot.  Now, get ready!”

“Why?”

“Illya, just trust me.”

With a shake of his head, Illya returned to shaving and then took a quick shower.  He’d loved to have lingered, but there was a sense of urgency in Napoleon’s voice.

When he exited the bathroom, a towel around his waist, Illya was surprised that Napoleon had all his clothes laid out on the bed.  Again, this was very odd.  Napoleon had stopped trying to dress him years ago.  Still, he got dressed, making a face as he put a tie on.  It took him two tries to remember how to tie it. 

Coming down the stairs, he pulled on his suit jacket and stopped.  Napoleon, Matt, and Rocky smiled at up at him.

“I feel as if I’ve walked onto the set of _This is Your Life_.”

“Well, maybe our life.”

“So are you going to tell me what this is all about yet?”

“ _Cara,_ do you never watch the news?”

“That would involve turning on the TV… or reading the newspaper.  I gave those up when I retired.  Now I read for fun.”

“It’s legal, Chef.”  Rocky grabbed Matt’s hand.  “We’re legal.”

“It’s far too early in the morning, Rocky.  You’re legal what?”

“He does live under a rock,” Napoleon said, dipping in for a kiss. “Illya, they legalized gay marriage.”

“Who they?”

“The Supreme Court.”

“And you got me up and dressed for this news?”

“No, I got you up and dressed so we can make history.  Illya Kuryakin, will you marry me?”

“But we were married years ago.”

“This one is real.”

“So was that one.”  Illya knew what Napoleon meant and he could see how much this meant to his partner.  “So what is your plan?”

“We’re going to Sacramento and get marriage licenses.  Then Matt and Rocky will be our witnesses and we’ll be theirs.”

“Sounds perfect.  Too perfect.  What’s the catch?”

“No catch.  We’ll get married, have a nice dinner and then come home.”

“Now that just sounds boring.”

“Or… we can stay in one of the suites I’ve already taken the liberty of booking.”  Napoleon shot a fast glance over to Matt and Rocky.  “The other is for you two as a wedding gift.”

“That’s too much, Mr. S.”  Rocky hugged him.  “We’ll try not to keep you awake.”

“With him?”  Napoleon hooked a thumb over his shoulder at Illya.  “Good luck trying to sleep with his snoring.”

Matt blushed and laughed.   “ _Cara,_ we won’t be sleeping.”

“Were we ever that young?” Napoleon whispered in Illya’s ear.

“Who says we aren’t?”

                                                                                ****

They sat at a table in one of Sacramento’s premier restaurants.  It was flattering that they still recognized Illya, but even better, he was delighted that they also recognized Matthew.  It did his heart good to see his friend coming into his own.  Granted Matt had managed to hold on to the five stars they had earned with Taste, but people seemed to think it was all still Illya.  People didn’t realize just how hard it was to keep those elusive stars once they were awarded.

“How is your _Insalad blue_ , Chef?”  Rocky was shifting his lettuce leaves around.

“It’s all right,” Illya said quietly, so as not to be overheard.  “It lacks imagination, though.  And blue cheese.”  Illya was keeping his voice down in an attempt to not draw attention to himself.  At first it had been entertaining to watch chefs fall over themselves when they learned he was in their restaurant.  He was always being invited back to the kitchen for a tour, or made special dishes in an attempt to impress him.  However, that was the man he once was, not the one he currently was.  Now he just wanted to dine in peace for he had no desire to try and impress anyone these days… well, anyone besides Napoleon.

“I would agree.”  Rocky pushed his plate aside.  “I am afraid that life with you has ruined me for everyone else,” he said to a beaming Matt. 

 

It wasn’t just Rocky’s praise that pleased the man.  Matt had not stopped smiling since the ceremony and Napoleon was still looking extraordinarily pleased with himself.  Napoleon acted as if he’d accomplished something fabulous when in fact he’d merely signed on a line and answered a few simple questions.

To Illya’s way of thinking, the only real accomplishment today was getting his ring off.  Slipping the ring over work-swollen knuckles didn’t make for an easy task, but with a little perseverance and some K-Y jelly, it finally came off… only to have Napoleon slip it back on an hour later.

                                                                                ****

Their meal passed without excitement.  No one recognized either Illya or Matt.  He hoped that was an accomplishment and not a bad sign.  They walked the short distance to the Sheraton and checked in.  The man behind the desk made a few congratulatory remarks, but Illya couldn’t tell if he was being solicitous or sincere.  Not that it mattered, but he used to be able to tell that sort of thing instantly.

Their suites were on the top floor and pretty much accommodated the entire thing.  Illya saw one other door, but that was it.

“Remember what I said,” Napoleon warned Matt and Rocky as they opened their door and stepped in.

“Oh, _cara_ , this is amazing!”  Matt was off and exploring the suite.  He laughed and twirled about.  “This has to be at least twice as big as our living room.”

“That means our whole house could fit inside ours,” Napoleon murmured to Illya who grinned widely.

“Yet you never complain when it’s time to clean it.”

“That’s true.”  Napoleon nudged Illya with his shoulder.  “You want to go check ours out before these two are buck naked and on the dining table?”   ”

“Might be interesting.” 

“I’ve got something that’s even more interesting.”

“Oh?  After all this time?”

“Trust me.”

“Then lead on, McDuff.”  Illya gestured and touched his forehead.  “Just leave enough pieces for me to pick up in the morning, Rocky.  He has to cook tomorrow.”

“Will do, Chef.  C’mere, you , sexy chunk of...”

The door closed and Napoleon sighed.  “And now we will never know what Matt is a sexy chunk of.”

“Probably just as well.  Men our age, we have to watch our hearts.”

“Funny man.”  Napoleon opened the door and paused.  “Should I carry you or carry me?”

“Been there and done that more than once.  I think this time we should pass.  Our backs will thank us.”  He  let Illya precede him. 

“This is pretty incredible, Solo.”

“It’s the honeymoon suite.”

There was a light tap on the door and Illya opened it.  There was a man standing there with a cart.  He wheeled it in.

“With compliments of the managements.  Congratulations on your marriage.”

Napoleon and Illya exchanged glances and Napoleon ventured, “Thanks.”

“So how many years?”

“Beg pardon?”

“How many years have you been together?”

“Get this wrong and you will sleep on the couch for the rest of our blissfully wedded state,” Illya warned quietly.

Napoleon laughed.  “Thirty seven, give or take.”

“Close enough, give or take,” Illya answered.

“Wow, that’s longer than my parents!”  The man placed the champagne in an ice bucket and placed a covered tray on the table.”

Napoleon fished some bills out of his pocket and passed them over to the server.  “Thank you and the same for our friends in the next suite.”

“Done and done, sir.”

“Good man.”

The man and the service cart vanished as Illya was working the cork free of the bottle.  “I am assuming you’d like some of this.”

“You assume right.”

“But I do have one question for you, Mr. Solo.”

“And that is?”

“Do we start all over again?  I mean, is this Day One?”

“I don’t see why we should.  I don’t feel any more married to you than I did this morning.”

“Then why go through this whole charade?”

“Because, my dear _Amante,_ we can.  For the first time in our lives, we are legally married in the eyes of the government, state and law.  I never thought this day would come.  I worried what would happen if I died…”

“Seventy thousand women in New York would go into mourning.”

“Illya, I’m being serious.”

“As am I.”  Illya poured the champagne.  “You are very well loved.”

“Seventy thousand women and no men?”

“One man in particular would be very distressed to learn of your passing.”  Illya lifted his flute and touched it to Napoleon’s.  “However, this is a time to speak of beginnings, not endings.  We’ve only just begun and all that nonsense.”

“Hardly begun.  Are you ready for bed, Mr. Kuryakin?”

“I thought you would never ask, Mr. Solo.”

Napoleon sipped the champagne and set his flute  on the nearby table.   He pulled off his tie and tossed it aside and shrugged out of his jacket.  He pulled the hem of his shirt out of his pants and began unbuttoning his shirt as Illya did the same.  “But I can assure you, I’m far from finished. “

“We’ll see.  And that surprise you promised me?”

“Oh, rest assured you’ll get it in the end.”  Napoleon tossed his shirt over on top of his suit jacket and undid his fly.  “See anything you like?”

“Promises, promises.”

They tumbled into bed and the lights went out, but, just as Napoleon promised, the fireworks had just started.

 

 


End file.
